


borrowed time

by thenewbacklog



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, canonical character presumed death, daisy doesn't appear but is Present, nothing explicit but it's basira thinking about how she's complicit in what daisy did, post-Unknowing, post-season 3, references to police brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewbacklog/pseuds/thenewbacklog
Summary: They went back to Basira’s, in the end. Melanie refused to leave Basira on her own, after everything, saying that Basira had been there for her and to let her do the same. Basira just wanted to go home.Basira and Melanie, after the Unknowing.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain & Melanie King
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	borrowed time

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a chapter of my Melanie 5+1, but the POV switched to Basira and it became a thing of its own. I really, really love what we see of their friendship, especially how much trust there is at the beginning of s4. I wanted to explore how they got there. 
> 
> Besides, I really wanted Basira to not have to deal with losing Daisy alone.
> 
> (Sidenote, navigating Basira's feelings about Daisy, the reality of both Daisy and Basira, and the fact that I'm genuinely scared of pre-coffin Daisy is HARD.)

They went back to Basira’s, in the end. Melanie refused to leave Basira on her own, after everything, saying that Basira had been there for her and to let her do the same. Basira just wanted to go home.

They picked up food on the way, and Basira went to shower and change while Melanie unpacked it. Daisy’s favorite old sweatshirt still lay on the end of her bed where she’d left it, just in case. Basira had left her jacket too, but Daisy always came back. _Always._

The sweatshirt still smelled like her. Not like the Daisy Tonner everyone else knew, but Basira’s Daisy. The Daisy who smelled like cinnamon and cheap shampoo, was too competitive about things that didn’t matter, would kill for the people she loved (basically, Basira) and… she wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. Was half-ready to kill the people she didn’t. The Daisy who once spent an entire night watching some terrible pastoral drama, until she fell asleep in Basira’s lap and Basira could finally turn the show off.

That was how Basira’d grown to think of her, somewhere along the line. Her Daisy, and the Daisy she didn’t acknowledge. She knew that wasn’t how it worked, but it was easier than admitting she’d enabled that. Protected that, because she had Daisy’s back, and Daisy had her back, and that was what you did.

It didn’t sound any better when she thought it out. But she’d done it, and she had to live with it.

She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, breathed, and walked back to the living room.

Melanie was wedged into the corner of the sofa nearest the door, eating out of the carton on her lap. Basira’s heart twisted a little. Daisy had done that, more so in the last few months, like placing herself between Basira and the world was the answer to everything. They both knew she didn’t need to, but it made Daisy feel safer, so Basira never mentioned it.

There was a lot she didn’t mention, with Daisy.

Melanie gestured to the remaining carton, and Basira picked it up and fit herself into the opposite corner of the sofa.

An hour later, the food hadn’t been demolished so much as methodically dismantled. Basira couldn’t say what it had been. She relaxed into the cushions a little as the silence shifted from comfortable to awkward, as Melanie practically vibrated with the need to move, to fight, to _do_ something.

The Hunt and the Slaughter weren’t that far apart, when it came down to it.

Melanie’s knee started to bounce, and she turned to Basira expectantly. This conversation was happening, then. “So.”

Basira had pulled Daisy’s sleeves over her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. If she closed her eyes, ignored the sound of Melanie’s leg hitting the cushion, she could pretend it was just another late night. When things were different.

Years before the Institute, anyway. When it was easier to overlook what Daisy did, when she did it. When they’d watch movies together, romcoms if Daisy picked them, documentaries if Basira did (or “documentaries,” Daisy had rolled her eyes dramatically through the one about the dragons, which made Basira laugh even harder), sitting apart and slowly inching together until Daisy was lying with her head in Basira’s lap.

It was the only time she ever saw Daisy that relaxed. She’d been amused at first, and flattered, and then fond. Eventually, they stopped pretending it wouldn’t happen. Daisy would take her hair out of its bun when they sat down, and Basira would play with it as Daisy drifted off. Daisy Tonner had never been a peaceful woman, and seeing her like that felt like a gift.

And now… no. She wasn’t going to think about it. Not yet. Maybe when Melanie was gone.

“So,” repeated Basira.

“I don’t want to ask if you’re all right...”

Basira shook her head. “Probably not. No.”

“Do you want to... talk about it?” Melanie asked. Her knee hadn’t stopped bouncing since she started talking.

“What’s there to say? We did it. Stopped the Unknowing. Tim’s gone. Jon’s… whatever he is. Daisy’s-” She faltered.

Melanie went still, and looked at Basira more steadily than Basira had seen her in weeks. The trapped-animal anger was, for once, gone.

Basira looked away, first at the arm of the sofa, then the corner of the bookcase with a chip where Daisy had knocked it on a doorframe when they’d moved it in. She knew what Melanie saw, knew she was being seen whether she liked it or not, but she’d left London with three other people and come back alone. “A long day” didn’t even begin to touch what had happened.

Melanie inched closer to Basira, who thought of other evenings, and people who weren’t there.

“Basira?” said Melanie. She held out her arms awkwardly, an invitation, if Basira wanted it.

Melanie was surprisingly good at hugs for someone who was all sharp edges and somewhat-contained violence. Or at least, she made up for any awkwardness with how much she obviously meant it.

Something broke, then. Melanie didn’t say anything, but held onto Basira as she cried herself out. Basira had never been a loud crier, just silence, and the occasional jagged breath. But it went on longer than she’d expected. She thought. Her sense of time had gone somewhere near the end of the first round. Then she went to wipe at her eyes with her sleeve, and the smell of Daisy’s sweatshirt set her off again, and Melanie held her tighter, rocking her a little.

Finally, Basira slumped against Melanie’s shoulder. Melanie didn’t let go, but her hold loosened, leaving room for Basira to move away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

“I didn’t know her well,” said Melanie tentatively. “Honestly, I was scared of her.”

Basira laughed, tiredly. “Everyone was.”

“Yeah. Yes. But she did… she did love you. Anyone could tell that. What she did...”

“It wasn’t just to protect me. I mean, it was, but. She liked it.” Basira sighed. “Always knew that about her.”

Melanie didn’t say anything, but hugged Basira a little closer.

They sat like that for a while, until Basira started to doze. Melanie leaned over to grab the blanket from the chair nearby, and Basira began to list sideways without the support. Melanie shifted over to give Basira room to lie down, and slid a throw pillow under her head as Melanie pulled the blanket around them both.

Daisy was still gone, and Basira would still have to face the first of so many days without her. But, at least, she wasn’t alone.


End file.
